And sweet scent of slow green tea infusion
Time of comfort whiled away with a friend
As we speak of futures of where we wend
He who comes from a similar path as I
Who understands both lands under our sky
Will not join the future for which I long
For this land he has no wish to belong
Synchronous with the strokes of midnight
And sweet indulgence of chocolate delight
Long hours spent with yet another friend
Where our ideals our beliefs we defend
He whose vision of the future may inspire
Whose solemn convictions I may admire
Cannot see the past that builds up to me
For he hears wailing from the loud Banshee
So gathered here at this golden steeple
Are the lonely and responsible people
Their heart ever so closely they guard
And ever do they send their manly regard
Never to enter the foray that is my life
Dismissing the warmth of which I am rife
Many eloquent arguments can they persuade
But it is that logic of which I am afraid
